Waiting: Mother Arc: Chapter 22

The MEs had taken the body, but the hallway still looked like something out of a horror house. Half of it charred, with blood and god knows what else drying into the carpet, and still reeking of burnt flesh. All in all, Breda supposed he'd seen worse, but being confronted with a scene like this right as he walked into headquarters, after being roused out of bed in the wee hours of the morning, ranked up there pretty high.

It wasn't helped by the uncertainty over Mustang's condition. Right now no news meant good news, but that was small reassurance. Breda took a bitter consolation in the fact that the other guy was undoubtedly worse off.

Lt. Colonel Phillips picked his way around the mess, his expression tight. "According to the guard, a man came in here maybe forty minutes before the brigadier general. He had a proper ID, or what seemed like one, but the guard didn't get a look at the name. Late thirties, average height, dark hair."

"That could be half the men here."

"I'm working to narrow that down. I need you help me piece together why he might have been in here in the first place."

Breda followed Phillips down the hall. Unfortunately, from here, the man could have been anywhere in the base.

"This makes two break-ins within the last week—that we know of," the lt. colonel continued. "Along with the attack on the embassy. Lieutenant, I've been here for three years, and they were probably the quietest years of my career. This sort of thing just didn't happen."

"And then Mustang showed up."

Phillips glanced at him, eyebrows raised as if to say, you said it, not me. "In all fairness, it's been a little over six months and these are our first major incidents. But it's hard to escape the fact that he's a target."

Which meant Phillips thought Mustang may be sparking it off, but not directly to blame. Breda filed this away.

The base librarian, Sergeant Chaffee, met them in the hall outside the records room. "Someone's been in there, Sir. I'm just guessing right now, but it looks like they were searching for something. Most of the cabinets have been disturbed."

"Anything missing or tampered with?"

Chaffee grimaced. "I won't know for a while. I had only just finished the inventory from the last break-in."

Phillips turned to Breda. "I think we all know this area's biggest hot buttons, but you're more intimately familiar with those issues. I want you rooting this out before it blows up in our faces."

"Understood, Sir."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find lodging for everyone in the embassy," the lieutenant-colonel grumbled. "The last thing we need is to add some international hostilities to this."

"The embassy—has anyone spoken with the brigadier-general's mother?"

Phillips ground the heel of his hand against his eye. "Oh, hell. No."

"I can take that," Breda offered. "I have some questions I want to ask."

Phillips gave him the name of the facility where members of the embassy had been taken to wait for more long-term lodging, a small municipal building often used for town hall meetings and other gatherings. He seemed glad to pass off the duty, though that might have just been the stress.

The sun had not yet risen and the streets were still mostly empty. Breda used the short drive to try to fit the pieces together in a way that made sense. He had the feeling that all of this was only a minor play in some larger game, but he couldn't fathom the end goal yet. The military's power structure was unstable, but which faction was trying to take advantage?

Once at the hall, he asked the first person he saw to find Yu Mustang, then asked if anyone could perhaps remember who had visited the embassy that day.

"I don't understand," one tired looking elder said. "Our princess and her guards are already taking care of this. Brigadier-General Mustang said it was a Xingian matter."

Breda sighed. "It—it is. The bombing is. But something else happened tonight and we think they're connected. If there's anything you can tell me—anything that stood out—"

"What happened?"

This came from Yu Mustang. She stood just inside the doorway, clutching her elbows. She looked like she hadn't slept in some time.

Breda walked over, ushering her away from the group. "Ma'am . . . I'm afraid there was a second incident."

* * *

Yu twisted the hem of her blouse between her fingers. She stared at the dashboard of the car, trying not to think about the hospital they were now approaching. Trying not to think about her son—her only child—lying in a room in that hospital. And trying—desperately—not to think of the last several days, and how frightened she had been—frightened of her own son. How she had let that fear make her cold and distant.

"HQ would've been told if the news was bad," Lieutenant Breda was saying. "I know that's not much, but it means there's still hope. The brigadier-general's a tough son-of-a-bitch—if you'll pardon my language—and he's not going to go down without a fight."

She tried to smile. ". . . Yes. He gets that from his father."

But his father did go down. One day he seemed invincible—and the next day he was gone. Blotted out by something trivial. As if he'd never mattered.

They pulled up to the hospital, and she got out of the car and walked inside in a daze.

The first thing she noticed was Ed's crumpled form in one of the waiting room chairs. Breda called his name and his head snapped up from his hands. He shot to his feet and dashed toward them, and she barely had time to note his frantic expression and the blood smeared across his shirt before he grabbed her arms.

"Yu! You're his mom, they'll talk to you, they'll have to—"

"What are you—"

"They won't talk to me!" His voice cracked. "Roy could be dying in there and they won't tell me a fucking thing because I'm not family!"

His panic grounded her. She cupped his cheek, then took his hand and marched over to the desk. "I'm Yu Mustang—I want to know my son's condition."

The woman behind the desk looked at them dispassionately. Her glance to Ed bordered on distaste and Yu glared at her, daring her to say one word. The woman finally picked up a receiver and pushed a few buttons. After a few terse exchanges, she waved them to the door to one side of the desk, telling them that a doctor would meet them there shortly.

It was some of the longest minutes of her life. Ed wouldn't be still, shifting from foot to foot and bouncing in place. He was staring at the door as if thinking of barging through and she tightened her grip on his hand. After an age a man in scrubs stepped through the door.

"Mrs. Mustang?" He didn't so much as acknowledge Ed.

"That's right."

"Your son is stable, but not out of danger yet. There was significant trauma and he's lost a lot of blood." He went on to talk about sepsis and organ failure and other things that made Yu's head spin and her heart clench. The upshot seemed to be that if he made it through the day his chances improved significantly, but it was a big if.

"Can we see him?" she asked, her voice thin to her own ears.

"I'll have a nurse fetch you when we've moved him to a recovery room. He's still sedated and needs the rest, so we'll have to ask you to make your visit short."

She thanked him and the doctor went back to his duties, leaving them to digest what they'd just heard.

Ed stumbled over to a chair and dropped down, his head in his hands. She followed and sank down beside him, staring at the floor without seeing it.

Breda sat down on Ed's other side and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Boss—I hate to press on this now, but we need to know what happened."

Ed shook his head. "I dunno what I could tell you. Roy went to grab something from the office, and the next thing I know I'm seeing flames through the window. By the time I got in there the guy was charcoal, and Roy—Roy was—fuck." He cut himself off, pressing his hands against his eyes.

Breda gave him a moment to collect himself, then asked, "Did Mustang say what he went in to get?"

He shook his head again. "We were talking about the attack on the embassy, and Roy was saying how he felt like he'd missed something. But that's it—he didn't say what he was going in for or anything. Sorry."

"Was there anything else? Anything that's been on his mind lately."

"Oh—the records." Ed finally raised his head. "Just before we got the call about the embassy he was saying that some records look like they've been changed. He didn't say how."

"Did he say which records?"

A smile ghosted across the young man's face. "No. He didn't want to tell me. Which means it's got something to do with Liore."

"You're sure?"

"Ninety-six-point-three percent sure. I can't think of anything else that idiot has been trying to 'protect' me from lately."

Breda's smile looked resigned. "I was thinking of starting there anyway. Thanks, Ed; if you need anything, let me know."

"I'm—fine."

Breda punched his shoulder. "Like hell you are. I know you better than that." He paused for a moment, then sighed. "Look. If you promise me you're not going to run off and try to handle things yourself, I'll let you know what I find. All right?"

Ed breathed out a laugh. "I'll behave, I promise."

Breda mussed his hair, the way he might show rough affection to younger brother, and stood. "I should get back to HQ. Do you want me to sent a car by?"

It took Yu a moment to realize this was directed to her, but Ed was already shaking his head. "I've got Roy's car here. I can take her back to . . . shit, where is everyone staying now?"

"Lieutenant-Colonel Phillips was still working on that."

Ed waved him off. "Well, I've got it. Go . . . investigate shit. Or something."

"Yes, sir, Major Elric."

With this flippant parting he left.

Now there was nothing to do but wait.

"Where you really a major? At your age?"

Ed snorted. "Sorta. I never joined up as a regular soldier, so it was mostly honorary."

He fiddled with the cuff of one of his gloves. They might have once been white, but soot and grime and blood had turned them a dingy and mottled grey-brown.

"Think I like it better when it's my own blood," he muttered.

Yu didn't know what to say to that. She watched in silence as he peeled off the gloves and stuffed them into his pocket.

Finally a nurse came to escort them to the room.

Ed took one step into the hospital room and turned to the nurse to demand, "Where's his eye patch?"

Yu had been too caught by the monitors and tubes hooked up to her son to notice that the ubiquitous black patch was missing.

The nurse said in a disinterested voice, "I'm sure it's with his personal effects."

"He doesn't like to be without it."

The woman gave him a condescending look. "Young man, this is a hospital—"

"He doesn't like," Ed growled, "to be without it."

She tried for another two seconds to stare him down, then turned away and muttered something about having his personal effects brought over.

Yu crossed to the bed, seeing for the first time the deep gash that ran from Roy's brow to across his cheek. "‹My poor baby,›" she whispered. She touched one edge of it, lightly, unable to stop her imagination. How horrible it must have been. "‹My poor little boy.›"

Ed's hand appeared in her field of vision, brushing Roy's hair back. "He doesn't even like to take it off at home," he explained. "Sometimes I want to tell him he's being an idiot, but I don't have much room to talk." His smile was brief but incredibly fond. "It's just one of those things."

She caressed the cheek beneath the knotted tissue, wondering what this scar meant. Wondering what he had been keeping from her.

An orderly arrived then, and without comment handed her a small box. When she opened it she found a silver pocket watch, a single glove with an array stitched in red, a wallet, and the eye patch. She handed this last to Ed, then watched as he slid it over the left side of Roy's face, easing the strap into place with care, making sure it was seated right and taking time to smooth his hair out of the way..

"There," he said as he finessed the oxygen tube around patch. "That's better, isn't it? Vain bastard."

His fingers lingered on Roy's jaw, the metal dark against the pale skin. Yu averted her eyes, feeling like an intruder.

A nurse stepped in and reminded them to make their visit short. Ed moved away with obvious reluctance. Yu took her son's hand for a brief moment, then followed, still clutching the box with his personal effects.

The storm inside her head started to sort itself into coherent thought as they left the hospital. "I need you to take me back to the embassy."

Ed frowned at her. "The embassy? But it's all ruined. We have a room—"

"I know." She stared down at the box in her hands. "But Mei's senior staff should still be there. There's—there's something I need to do."

Still frowning, he opened the passenger door to a car that was parked only nominally against the curb. "Okay—I guess. If that's what you wanna . . . um."

Blood painted the seat, pooled on the cushion and dripping down to the floor. It had dried to brown in spots but in others was still a shiny, sticky red.

"Shit. I'll—um—here." Ed brought his hands together and then touched the stain. A moment later he was dumping dried blood onto the ground. "Sorry."

Something inside her crumbled as she watched what might be her son's life be brushed away so easily. She pressed a hand to her mouth, desperately trying to hold herself together. She only needed to make it to the embassy. It wasn't that far, she only needed to hold it together until then—

"Okay, that should—oh. Um—oh."

Ed took the box from her and dropped it in the car, then put a hand on her arm. He looked so concerned—for her—that the last of her control snapped and she sobbed.

He hugged her. "Yeah. It really fucking sucks."

He still reeked of the embassy fires and blood and was probably ruining the fresh clothes she had put on. She laughed, and sobbed, and cried into his shoulder. "Yes, it does," she agreed. "It really does."

* * *

The house seemed deathly quiet.

Ed pushed the front door closed and stood for a moment in the entryway. Magpie was watching him from the couch, but otherwise he was the only living thing there. He desperately wished that Al hadn't gone off chasing that bastard Ling. It was selfish, but right now he didn't have it in him to be otherwise. It felt like the world was taking a shit and once again Edward Elric was the target.

He didn't bother to hang up his coat, instead dropping it on the entryway tiles. It needed a good wash and maybe a transmutation or two before it would be presentable again. Later.

He set the box with Roy's personal effects—and what an impersonal label that was—on the coffee table and lowered himself to the floor. "Hey, stupid cat. Be glad you weren't on the streets last night."

Magpie trilled at him and set to sniffing his hand and sleeve. The cat sneezed, twice, then started to lick the back of his hand.

Ed moved the hand out of range. "You probably shouldn't be ingesting that. But you're right. I need a bath." He scratched the cat's neck and—because there was no one around to see—planted a quick kiss between his ears. "You ever rat on me for that and you're on the street again."

Maow?

"I mean it, stupid cat. That'd be the end of the freeloading."

He gave the cat one more scratch and pushed himself to his feet, wincing. A night without sleep hadn't done his leg any favors.

Maybe it was good that no one else was around, because he was too tired to hide his limp as he climbed the stairs. Maybe Roy was right, maybe he should talk to Winry—

"Fuck."

Ed scrubbed a hand over his face, staring at the half-filled tub.

If Roy was here, he'd call Winry just to make him happy. Hell, he would drive himself over to Central and get a full automail overhaul if it meant Roy was here to make happy.

He pulled the stopper on the tub, watched the water swirl down.

Ed must have stood under the hot spray for a good forty minutes trying to scrub the last several hours off his skin. It only marginally helped. He turned off the water and stared at the tiles, feeling like he was still waiting to wake up from a nightmare. He reached for a towel.

He stood in the doorway rubbing the towel over his hair, staring at a bed that looked way too big and empty. A king-sized bed, Roy had called it. Ed had teased him about the extravagance. Roy had teased him back about getting lost in the blankets. And maybe getting him a ladder.

"Bastard," he muttered, smiling in spite of everything.

He walked over to Roy's side and dropped to the floor, his back against the mattress. As exhausted as he was, he was way too keyed up to sleep.

He really wished Al was there.

He stared at Roy's alarm clock. It had never gotten set the night before. A good thing, too, because it would have been blaring by now.

After a moment or two of debate, he grabbed the phone by its cord and slid it to the edge of the nightstand, until he could grab the base and lift it to the floor.

Ed counted the rings as he tried to sort out his head. Everything was such a muddle he was afraid it would all come out in an incoherent mess.

On the seventeenth ring a bored voice picked up. Ed stated the room number and person he wanted and the receiver was dropped onto the table without further comment. (Ed rolled his eyes but had to admit he probably wouldn't have acted any better. Common area phones were a pain.)

A couple minutes later the receiver was picked back up. "Yes? Who is this?"

A small bubble of tension escaped his chest at the familiar voice. "Hey Winry."

"Ed?" Winry's irritation evaporated immediately. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Yeah. It's—" His throat closed up. He managed to choke out "Roy" and "hospital" before the sob broke free.

"i>Oh my god. What happened? Is he gonna be okay? What are the doctors saying?"

Ed wiped his nose and sniffed, and got himself under control. "I dunno. We got the 'if he makes it through the day' speech. But they wouldn't even talk to me," he added, bitterly.

"Oh, no." He heard rustling and guessed Winry was sitting down. "Immediate family only. Standard rules. Oh, Ed. . . ."

"It was all right once his mom got there. They didn't mind telling her."

"It's still not all right." Then after a pause, "What happened?"

"He was attacked. And intruder at HQ—"

"This early in the morning?"

"Yeah. He was—because of—fuck, I better start from the beginning."

Ed summarized everything that had happened since the phone had rung the night before. Winry interrupted several times to ask questions, but most were answers he didn't have. If only he did know, maybe he wouldn't feel so helpless.

"Wait a minute, Ed—" she said as he wrapped up with his mad drive to the hospital, "Where the hell is Al?"

"Oh. Right." He sniffed again and rubbed his face. "Al's in Liore. That's another long story and I don't even know a third of it."

"What has been—what? No, I'm not done yet, sorry." This to someone in the room. "Do you have any idea who that man was—and what he was doing there?"

"There really wasn't much left of him. Roy was panicked, after all. Kinda crispy-fried over-killed him."

"Eugh. That wasn't a detail I needed."

"Sorry. I haven't slept. Anyway. Breda's looking into it."

"And you think the attack on the embassy was—No, I'm going to be awhile yet, sorry. Sorry, Ed—what do you think the embassy has to do with anything?"

"I think it was a distraction. I think—I think someone's trying to throw Roy off balance or something."

"But why?"

"I dunno," he admitted. "Roy doesn't really share all the political stuff with me. I, uh. Kinda can't follow a lot of it."

"That's because you're an idiot," she said, fondly. "But Roy's good at that kind of thing."

"Yeah. . . ."

"That sounded like a loaded 'yeah'."

Ed let his head rest on his knees.

"Ed? What is it?"

"Well . . . normally . . . but . . . remember . . . remember what he was like right after he came down from the north?"

Winry was quiet.

"He isn't—he isn't as bad as he was then," he rushed to explain. "I mean, he's dealing with it. He hasn't let it pull him down like he was before, but it just—it just—shit."

"What—look, I'll let you know when I'm done here, okay?—what happened?"

Ed sniffed and wiped his eyes. "I'd be guessing, and I'm too tired to guess. Something between him and his mom. It's just—he's just—down. it's been crazy over here, and it's taken a lot out of him. But he's been dealing with it. But I just—I can't help but think—the way he's been might—I dunno. I guess I'm saying he might—might not have been in the best place to deal with this. I wish I was better at this political shit."

"Forget it, Ed, you're way too honest."

He huffed, leaning back against the bed. "Hey, I can be . . . not-honest."

"No you can't. You just get—my BROTHER'S BOYFRIEND just got STABBED so go find yourself ANOTHER PHONE!" This was punctuated by a distant crash, as if something had just been thrown across the room.

Ed snorted, and sputtered, and fell against the nightstand laughing.

"Ed? Ed, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fuck." He straightened up, still snickering. "Thanks."

"For—what?"

"For just . . . being you." He took a deep breath and let it out, feeling a little bit better. "I'm not keeping you from any classes or anything, am I?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Win-ry . . . don't go skipping classes 'cause of me. . . ."

"Please. It's a first-year course and it's dead easy. It's not gonna matter if I miss a session."

"They didn't let you test out?"

"No. This one is required." He was sure she was rolling her eyes. "It's not completely worthless, there's been a lot of advances in medicine in the last several years, but I've already read through the materials and I could have taken the final the first week. So never mind that—Ed, are you sure you're okay?"

He sighed. "I . . . dunno," he admitted. "It'd be better if I could do something. Anything."

"It seems to me you've already done a lot."

"Not really."

"Ed . . . I don't . . . know the details of what happened, what pulled him down, but . . . the fact that he's been dealing with it, and not—not getting dragged under by it like before . . . you know that's because of you, right?"

He sniffled. "But I'm not . . . really doing anything. Roy's just . . . he's fighting it this time. He wasn't fighting it before."

"He's fighting it because of you. Just—just trust me on this, all right? Maybe if you weren't such an idiot you'd be able to see it, too."

He scoffed. "Thanks, I think."

"Now go to bed, idiot. You're not going to be any help to anyone if you're dead on your feet."

"Yeah. I think I could sleep now."

"Let me know what happens, okay? Good or . . . just let me know."

"Yeah. Okay."

"If I don't hear from you in the next couple days I'm gonna call. And if I can't get ahold of you then I'm driving over. Screw the train schedules."

"You don't have a car up there."

"I'll find one. There's plenty on campus."

Ed laughed. "All right, all right. But don't go skipping your classes or committing larceny, you loon."

After hanging up the phone, Ed realized he'd forgotten to mention his leg.

It was just acting up from stress, anyway. It would feel better after he got some sleep. No need to worry her over something trivial.

He crawled up onto the bed and collapsed. On top of the bedclothes Roy so fastidiously pulled up every morning.

Magpie headbutted the side of his face and started to lick his eyebrow. Ed groaned and raised his hand to let the cat lick that instead. "If you plan on staying don't blame me if you get kicked. I'm not responsible for anything I do in my sleep."

Magpie rubbed against his palm.

"Stupid cat."

Ed roused himself and burrowed under the blankets. The weather was starting to turn and it was just a bit too cold for sleeping out in the open.

This time last year Roy had been just starting to complain about frigid automail. But he had never once shied away when Ed sought out his body heat, even in the dead of winter.

Ed lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the eerie quiet. The neighbor's front door slamming, and then car starting up. A dog barking several houses away. The distant ticking of that stupid, ornate clock Roy liked so much.

Roy and his stupid extravagances.

Ed scooted across the too-large mattress and buried his face in Roy's pillow, breathing deep.

Magpie padded across his back and nudged his ear with a chirp.

"If you promise not to rat on me for this, either, stupid cat," he said without raising his head, "you're welcome to my pillow. I'm taking this one."